


Personal Weapons

by Branch



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-10
Updated: 2010-01-10
Packaged: 2017-10-06 02:34:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Branch/pseuds/Branch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiruma and Mamori play with guns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Personal Weapons

She knew that she was spending too much time, far too much time, with Hiruma when she found her right hand tensing during extra long committee meetings, index finger curling further back the longer Yomura-kun babbled on. She worried a bit about that, but not too much. The telling point, she felt, was that, however enticing the idea of things that went _bang_ and _whoosh_ and _crackle_ were, she didn’t really want to shoot Hiruma himself. If she were being corrupted by his wild, thoughtless attitude she would, wouldn’t she? No one annoyed her as much as he did, after all.

What she wanted to do to Hiruma was swat him repeatedly in the face with a wet mop. And only sometimes.

She did find her eyes and then her fingers wandering over the guns he left on the bench beside him, though, tracing over the rough grips, brushing the slides. She had to admit, in the privacy of her own mind, the way people hopped to do what Hiruma said when he had one of these in hand was extremely tempting at times.

“You wanting to burn something else up, fucking manager? You’ve got the wrong one for that.”

Mamori snatched her fingers back, flushing. “Don’t be ridiculous!” Warming to the offensive, which was the only way to deal with Hiruma, she added, “And that was your fault for leaving something that dangerous just lying around.”

He raised a brow at her and snorted. “Who was it who picked the damn thing up and pulled the trigger without knowing what it was?”

“You should have said,” she insisted stubbornly.

He gave her a long look. “Well, that’s a .30, and that’s an AK-47, and this is an uzi, just for fun, that one’s a SAM, and for fuck’s sake you don’t just poke at them, hold it like you mean it.”

Her spine stiffened at that last bit. “Fine, then!” She wrapped her fingers around the smallest one, holding it away from either of them.

Hiruma rolled his eyes. “Not like _that_!” He pushed up to his feet and came around behind her, hands closing over hers to bring the gun up in front of them. “Even the kick on this little thing will take it out of your hands if you hold it like that. Like this, so the punch goes back into your shoulders.”

At first she stiffened a bit, finding him more or less hugging her. Kind of more than less, actually. She blushed at the press of his thigh against hers as he nudged her foot forward.

“Little further apart; there. Now unlock your elbows.”

Slowly, she relaxed. His hands moving her arms, shoulders, ribs, were light and impersonal. And she could feel that this was a more solid way to stand.

“Like this?” She lifted the gun in both hands, chest high.

“About. Now, see that blocking sled over there?” A long finger pointed over her shoulder.

“The one Kurita-kun broke today?” she shot back a bit dryly. Honestly, it was a good thing Hiruma _did_ have ways to get more funding out of the principal.

“Yeah, that one.” She could hear his grin. “Look hard at it, and pull the trigger slowly.”

The crack of the shot made her jump, and even she could see the bullet went wild. She frowned and lined up again before Hiruma could say anything. She wasn’t used to not being able to do the things she tried. The next one jarred her back, rocking her on her heels, but a hole darkened the sled’s padding. She nodded with satisfaction and lifted her chin, looking over her shoulder at Hiruma. Just let him try to call her ignorant or incompetent again. When their eyes met she had to blink, though.

His sharp grin, gleaming down at her, wasn’t impersonal at all.

**End **


End file.
